


See You First

by CMRandles



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Not A Fix-It, One Shot, Post-coma!Tony, Semblance of a Plot, Sexual Dysfunction, hydra!cap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 18:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10224014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMRandles/pseuds/CMRandles
Summary: Tony tries to hide it, but his legs are shaking. The doctor probably told him to walk only with a cane, but he left it behind because he didn’t want me to see his weakness. Never mind that it is written all over him. He’s a wounded animal dragging himself into a predator’s cave - but why?He continues before I can prompt him. “I just had to see for myself. I mean, I heard the whole story. They told me when I woke up. But I thought, hey, they had me on a lot of meds and maybe it was just an opiate dream.”I spread my arms, “Feast your eyes.”He does. I can see the appreciation in his eyes, the naked wanting. He hides it even less well than he did back when we were teammates on those fumbling nights when we grabbed after glittering moments of pleasure together. Now, though, there is also anger on his face, along with hurt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story bears only the loosest resemblance to the current comic book story-lines affecting Tony & Steve, most especially Steve's turn as a Hydra baddie. Take it all with a grain of salt and try to forgive me for playing fast and loose with comic timelines (as well as grammar). <3

I know walking into the darkened building is a bad idea, but I do it anyway. I take the back stairs, moving slowly and deliberately. Anonymous invitations to remote locations are usually followed by a variety of booby traps. Nothing jumps out or blows up and I climb to the fourth floor landing undisturbed. I pause there, listening. Silence. An entire apartment building and there is no one here. Another very bad sign. And still I find myself walking down the hallway, my footfalls distinctly resounding in the oppressive quiet.

Apartment 409. I briefly consider knocking - old habits, they die hard, but instead try the knob. The door opens easily, swinging in with a familiar creak. The interior is bathed in comfortable yellow light from a skinny modern lamp in the corner. The furniture is modular, shades of white and gray, arranged throughout the room like museum pieces. Quiet music, jazz I think, plays from a hidden source.

An unexpected chill runs down my spine like a jolt of electricity. I step into the empty room, slamming the door with enough force to wake the neighbors, if there were any. I _knew_ who invited me here, could feel it in my bones from the moment I received the mysterious summons, and yet I still feel a shock when he speaks from the kitchen.

“Make yourself at home. Won’t be a minute.”

I do not wait. Picking my way around the artsy furniture I barge into the galley kitchen to see him leaning against the counter, pouring a drink. His hands shake badly. Tony Stark’s blue eyes look into my own and he does not smile. And even after all this time all I want is to touch him, to reassure myself of his solidity in the world - as unshakable, it seems, as my own. I want to reach out and smooth the deep wrinkle between his eyebrows.

He is dressed in a pale pink shirt and gray slacks. They are the clothes of a healthy Tony Stark and they fit his wasted frame like a scarecrow’s rags. He has missed a button halfway down leaving a pale oval of skin exposed. The sight of that gap jars me more than even his drinking.

He is looking me over, his eyes lingering on the new uniform. The eyebrow furrow deepens. I realize that he is not leaning against the new granite countertop in his typical casual manner. Rather, it is all that is keeping him upright. This is a man who should not be on his feet, especially not in front of a dangerous Hydra operative. And yet, this entire situation is just so _Tony_ \- elaborate, dramatic, and poorly timed.

“I thought you were dead,” I say.

He shrugs, setting the bottle of amber liquid aside with deliberate care. “Nah, just napping.”

“I believe the term ‘coma’ was used.”

“What is a coma except a very long medical nap? You want one?” He indicates the glass. I shake my head.

On another day, in another life, I would have lectured him. But now, when the instinct arises, it feels hollow and strange. I murdered our friends, betrayed the fragile string of trust that had begun to strengthen between us - who was I to lecture him about anything? So I stay quiet, watch him take a long drink and shudder as though from a draft.

“What are we doing here, Tony?” I can’t stop myself from asking the question. It comes out impatient and more harshly than I intended, but he is unphased.

“You used to live here. Remember?”

“Of course I remember.”

“Back when you first woke up. This was the shithole Shield stuck you in until they could figure out what to do with you. Do you know that they were going to tear this place down and put in a parking lot or something? No respect.”

I don’t know why I bother to ask, I already know the answer. “So, you bought it?”

He nods. “It should be a national monument, don’t you think? Thawing place of Captain America.”

Tony tries to hide it, but his legs are shaking. The doctor probably told him to walk only with a cane, but he left it behind because he didn’t want me to see his weakness. Never mind that it is written all over him. He’s a wounded animal dragging himself into a predator’s cave - but why?

He continues before I can prompt him. “I just had to see for myself. I mean, I heard the whole story. They told me when I woke up. But I thought, hey, they had me on a lot of meds and maybe it was just an opiate dream.”

I spread my arms, “Feast your eyes.”

He does. I can see the appreciation in his eyes, the naked wanting. He hides it even less well than he did back when we were teammates on those fumbling nights when we grabbed after glittering moments of pleasure together. Now, though, there is also anger on his face, along with hurt.

“It’s funny,” he says taking another shaky sip, “Because everything I want to say right now is such a terrible cliche. Like, ‘how could you’?” For this he adopts the falsetto screech of a soap opera heroine.

“You should sit down,” I suggest. He ignores me.

“I keep thinking that it’s some kind of sick joke. Like, the universe wasn’t done with me yet and just wanted to throw in one last kick to the balls.”

It only takes two steps for me to close the distance between us. He actually gasps when I invade his personal space, drawing away and tripping over his own feet. He drops the glass, which does not break but spills its contents across the tiled floor. Tony’s eyes are wide, though with fright or excitement I cannot tell.

“Believe it or not, I’ve heard it all before,” I say, standing very close to him. I can feel the heat radiating off of him in waves like a sickness. I can smell his breath and am surprised to find it lacking the alcoholic reek. “Is that..apple juice?” I ask, indicating the bottle.

He gives a jittery nod. I can’t help but laugh, a breathless chuckle that echoes on Tony’s lips a moment later. And just for a minute I ache for the days of our closeness, so out of reach now they may as well have been a dream.

“Why did you ask me to come here?” I ask him in a low voice.

He fidgets, clever fingers sliding along the smooth edge of the dark granite. “I wanted to ask you how it was possible. This,” he gestures at me, careful to avoid accidental touching, “You. But then it occurred to me that I don’t know how _any_ of my life is possible right now. So...I guess...no good reason.”

“Is that it?” I say, tracing my finger along an old scar on his jawline. I do it mostly to gauge his reaction, which is mixed. He flinches, but does not turn away. “Or were you hoping for something else?”

“Like what?” he asks, voice husky.

I move my hand to his neck, slowly curling my fingers until they clutch his throat. I do not squeeze or even put an ounce of pressure on his pale skin, just hold my hand on him until he gets the message. Tony does not deny my unspoken accusation, eyes meeting mine with a steady gaze that does not speak of shame. I am overwhelmed by a wave of arousal that leaves me dizzy.

“Were you hoping I’d end it for you?”

He lowers his gaze. “It seems fitting. For it to be you, I mean.”

“Tony.”

“And it has the added benefit of saving you the trouble later on.”

“Stop.”

“Why?” He raises his chin, defiant as ever he was. “It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve killed others, why not me? Huh? Finish what you started? Then again, maybe you’d rather wait until I’m more of a challenge again. Right now all it’d take is a firm push for me to fall into my gra-”

I squeeze his throat. He stops speaking with a gasp and his hands come up to push urgently against my arm, an instant physiological reaction. I am not choking him, only threatening to, and I can see his pupils dilate instantaneously. We never played rough back in the old days; our hasty Avengers-era fucking was done in impersonal silence while this, this is undeniably intimate. I have never gotten so hard so fast.

“Did you fantasize that I would overpower you? Do what I wanted now that all the cards are on the table?”

After a moment, perhaps when it sinks in that his breathing is unrestricted, his fingers relax. He can’t be comfortable, lower back pressed against the countertop, knees wobbling, my hand on him, our bodies pressed together in unnatural angles, puzzle pieces that do not quite fit. Still, his gaze when it meets my own is level. His eyes ask a silent question and I am overcome by dizziness.

It had occurred to me before that Tony might have to be dealt with - if Carol didn’t actually kill him. I filed it away in the back of my mind to deal with later. What I realized now is that I had not dreaded our inevitable confrontation for one reason: Tony loves me. Has always loved me, in his own way. And after everything that happened, including the crushing regret he experienced after my death...I know he won’t do anything to stop me now. He invited me here as a show, like the apple juice in the whiskey bottle, an empty threat.

“You don’t really want to die,” I whisper.

“No,” he admits readily enough.

And that’s when his legs do give out, buckling underneath him. He cries out, grabbing fistfulls of my shirt in an attempt to keep himself upright. I release his throat and instead grab him under the arms like a toddler, hoisting him in the air with only marginal effort. I pull him close and half-carry half-drag him into the living room. Soft jazz is still playing from somewhere. I try to imagine him choosing the album, crafting this entire scene without any guarantee that I would show.

“Agh, I hate this,” he says as I deposit him on the rectangular couch. “I _fucking_ hate this.”

“See, even if you really wanted to die I couldn’t kill you. It would be a little too much like shooting a fish in a barrel.”

My comment was intended to be funny, but the look he shoots me is not amused. “You could think of it as a mercy.”

I shake my head, but before I can speak he cuts me off. “If you say something nice to me right now I will literally laugh myself to death and my blood will be on your hands anyway.”

I stand over him, arms-length away and ask one final time. “What do you want from me, Tony?”

He closes his eyes, leaning his head back on the angular planes of this inexplicable furniture. “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Everything made sense in my head, but now...I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to see you, talk to you one last time before...we’re trying to kill each other again.”

“I want you.” I hear myself saying it without knowing why. He’s already seen the bulge in my pants, I know that for sure. Now his eyes snap to my face, bright and blue and very clear despite the pain he must be feeling.

A beat, then: “We’ve been in some weird situations before, but I’m having trouble thinking of one that is _weirder_ than right now.”

I reach down and squeeze my hard dick, letting out the smallest sigh of satisfaction. Tony watches, not so much as glancing away. His eyes, slightly glassy, stay on me as I step forward and sink to my knees before him. My hands smooth down the slick fabric of his trousers and his thigh muscles jump.

“Steve,” he speaks my name like a prayer and a warning, “I’m not sure if I can...the meds…” he trails off.

“Just relax,” I reply. The truth is that I don’t know why I’m doing this either, at this point I’m simply acting on instinct, carrying out the orders my reptile brain delivers.

I reach for his trousers and unzip them, he isn’t wearing a belt, wrenching them over his narrow hips. The bones protrude sharply under the skin like tombstones. His limp cock rests in a nest of dark pubic hair and he bites his lip when I reach for it.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “I don’t think I can.”

“I don’t care,” I reply and take him in my mouth.

My hands press down on his thighs, keeping him still as I fondle his soft cock with my tongue. Tony has always been a restless lover, always in motion, always engaged, and tonight is no exception. His fingers push through my short hair, his hips buck against my face, and I can almost feel his pulse racing through his skin. A glance at his face tells me how uncomfortable he is, how ashamed. Perhaps he is afraid that I’ll be angry with him, take his performance issues personally. I may be a lot of things, but I’m not that guy.

I keep at it, savoring the unique experience. Tony’s body grows more and more tense under my hands until I am waiting for him to pull away. He doesn’t, but his verbal litany picks up once more.

“You don’t have to keep...doing this,” he pants. “It’s not gonna happen. Just...oh, God.”

I glance up at his face to find it twisted in a combination of shock and pleasure. Simultaneously his dick lets loose a jet of salty precome. Tony looks baffled.

“What....Steve, I think...I’m gonna come. I don’t know how,” he finishes with a hysterical giggle even as he tries to twist away. I press down hard on his legs and continue my ministrations until he cries out and a wash of salty liquid fills my mouth. For lack of anything better to do, I swallow.

“Jesus,” he pants, “What the hell...”

I deliberately do not give him time to recover, sliding onto the couch beside him and taking him in my arms. I kiss him hard with no trace of tenderness or hesitation. My embrace says: _This is happening,_ because I can sense the doubt creeping into his mind now that his body has seen satisfaction. I grab his trembling hand and put it on my dick, helpfully unzipping and holding aside my trousers. He tries to extricate himself from the kiss, but I do not let him, taking hold of the back of his head and forcing us together. Perhaps in his own act of rebellion, his fingers are tantalizingly light when they finally reach my skin, tracing unknowable patterns on the most sensitive part of me until I have to break away to groan.     

He watches me with hooded eyes almost, but not quite, smiling. “All this time and I’ve never really seen you, Steven.”

I am too lost to contemplate his double meaning.

“Harder,” I say and he obediently changes tactics, fisting my cock. I bite my lip, laying my head on the back of the couch.

“I wish you would take off that fucking thing,” he plucks at my shirt with his free hand.

I wave him off irritably, trying to focus on the pleasure instead. I jump when his hand pushes up my shirt, bunching it around my collarbone so he can press his lips to my nipple. “Agh!” I cry, thrusting my hips up at his hand.

“That’s it, go on,” Tony encourages and begins to use his tongue.

It has been too long since anyone touched me. I cannot remember the last time, to be honest, and I blame the prolonged lack of contact for how quickly I am undone. I growl and grab him by the back of the head, spasming into his fist and gritting my teeth to keep from screaming. The pleasure flashes white-hot behind my eyes like a sparkling sea of stars. Then it is gone. And we are back. Tony and Steve. Avenger and Hydra. Never on solid footing where each other are concerned.

He pulls back, panting and ashen-faced, wiping his hand on the couch. I rearrange myself, standing to zip my fly. Tony angles himself along the couch in order to do the same, though it seems to cost him considerable effort. I don’t know what to do or say now. I have no reason to hurt him, or to kill him like he implied, not right now. And while he has considerable motivation to take me down, we both know that he won’t.

“What?” He gasps, heaving himself back into a sitting position, “Not gonna cuddle?”

Frustration gets the better of me. I reach out and overturn the closest thing I can reach which turns out to be a stupid rectangular lamp. The lampshade cracks down one side and the bulb shatters, eliminating the cheerful glow that had illuminated our fucking. In the gloom I catch the naked fear as it crosses Tony’s face. And, God help me, I love it. More than anything, that’s what sends me running for the door, because I don’t know what I will do if I stay.

“See you around,” Tony says behind my back, his voice reedy and exhausted.

I slam the door behind me, shutting my eyes and murmur: “Not if I see you first.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as an exercise in writing first-person. It's not something I do often and it was an enjoyable experience. In addition, I find that I'm obsessed with Hydra!Cap (I realize I'm in the minority here) and keep coming up with ways to play with his new identity. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope YOU enjoyed reading the story! 
> 
> UPDATE: You guys! I'm officially a published author! Woo! If you want to check out my book you can find it here: https://www.cmrandles.com/books (it's chock full of juicy romance and gay porn, I promise!)


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